


'Cause We're Talkin' Bodies

by 5milesinto_tomorrow



Category: Simon vs. the Homo Sapiens Agenda - Becky Albertalli
Genre: Body Dysphoria, But is also on Broadway? So there's that, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Simon gets buff, Simon overreacting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-02
Updated: 2018-04-02
Packaged: 2019-04-17 10:01:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,357
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14186451
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/5milesinto_tomorrow/pseuds/5milesinto_tomorrow
Summary: Just a few years after the events of the book, Simon and Bram are living out their college dreams: Bram studying language and working as a student teacher at a nearby private middle school, and Simon on the way to becoming a Broadway performer. But a more intensive acting career means a more rigorous workout routine for Simon. Despite everything, dysphoria still manages to creep up, even when it isn’t expected.-or-Simon grows up and gets really buff and athletic, and he and Bram get emotional about how they’ve changed since high school.





	'Cause We're Talkin' Bodies

**Author's Note:**

> Hi hi! This is the first piece I've ever posted, but I've been lurking around for a while~
> 
> I'm so glad I finally got my invitation so I can get more involved in the fan-writing community and I'm starting with a bang with a Simon vs. fic. 
> 
> Hope you like and I hope I did these two justice. ^-^
> 
> (I've written a ton of Simon vs. fics in waiting for my account to be invited, so I'll be pretty active these first few weeks)

Walking home from the gym isn’t nearly as exhausting now as I remember it was a couple months ago. At first, my legs would give out and I couldn’t feel them. I’d come home and literally collapse into my boyfriend’s arms and, of course, he’d laugh at me. 

But now, I always feel so confident leaving the gym and walking my way home. There’s just a little more spring in every step I take. Knowing what Bram’s old soccer practices looked like, I know he’d have a full “I told you so” speech prepared for me if I ever mentioned that out loud, though. He’d also never let me hear the end of it if he knew I watched myself flex in the mirror whenever I get out of the shower.

But to his credit, it was Bram that suggested I start working out to begin with. He’d get so worried about me after play rehearsals when I’d come home and immediately pass out in my exhaustion. To which, I’d assure him it was only natural I’d be tired because this is the real deal- “It’s Broadway, dummy.” It never worked, though, and I’m not sure why or if I ever thought it would. He was persistent. Sometimes, even hiding my Oreo stash from me until I ate something healthier or met some kind of vitamin quota for the day.

_The freaking nerve he had to hide my Oreos._

But I’d be lying if I said it didn’t pay off in the end. A tiny confidence boost goes a long, long way. Dance classes and yoga sessions make me so much more aware of my body, and I just feel better in general. Of course, I still sneak the occasional cookie when you-know-who isn’t looking. That should be a given.

I jog up our walkway to the front porch and make a mental note to rework my jogging playlist. Sufjan Stevens isn’t exactly who I need to hear to hype me up for exercise. 

It still doesn’t quite feel real to have a walkway up to our place at all. We’d spent so much time in our cramped little apartment that I never really thought about having more space. But Bram found a teaching internship a while ago on top of his English major, and it helped him get all kinds of job opportunities. Enough that I almost forgave him for being gone all the time. After all, not everyone can say their boyfriend could afford an actual freaking house before even graduating college. In New York, nonetheless.

I fumble my keys for a moment, but eventually manage to get a grip on them and move to unlock the door. I curse myself under my breath when I realize it’s already unlocked. I’m not surprised Bram beat me home, since I spent an extra half-hour with my trainer, working on a new muscle group.

The director of the production I’m auditioning for wants someone who can do this crazy aerial ballet routine, and I just don’t have the core strength yet. Almost, but not quite.

The living room is strangely quiet, but I know Bram is home. The door was unlocked and I see his shoes in the entryway. I call his name to let him know I’m back, though he probably heard the door open. He’s in front of me before the words are out of my mouth.

“Hi,” he says, grinning like an idiot. He missed me.

“Hi,” I smile back. I start pulling off my shoes and he rips off my headband and ruffles my hair. I still keep it messy for him because I know he likes it, but it gets more than a little annoying when I have to figure out how to deal with it when I work out.

He leans down to kiss me and the height difference still makes me blush. Even since high school, he’s still been just a little taller than me. Some things even crazy fitness plans can’t fix.

“How was work?” I ask, when we finally break apart.

I love hearing all the little stories he has to tell about the stupid antics his students get up to.

“You know, it was okay,” he says, matter-of-factly. “Teaching seventh-graders isn’t a blast, but I actually smiled in-class for once when a student of mine brought me a drawing of the gay pride flag.” He’s beaming and he knows it.

“Oh?” I raise my eyebrows a little. No, we’re not in Georgia anymore, but that doesn’t mean I’m not surprised that quiet Bram is more open in public about his sexuality.

“I haven’t said a lot, but I think some of them just know. I think we just need to give kids more credit. They catch on fast,” he says. His smile was clear as day in his voice.

I don’t have anything to say to that, so I just laugh. Maybe some kids, but I was always clueless, and Bram knows it all too well. Maybe his grammatical cuteness and intelligence are just rubbing off on his students. But he’s having a proud teacher moment, and I decide to let him keep having it.

He asks me about my time at the gym and what happened at rehearsal today, and we eventually sit down to eat and watch something. Like most nights, I always suggest we go back to watching _The Bachelor_ like the old days. But Bram gets his way, and we start watching what I think is called _A Handmaid’s Tale_. It has a lot of intellectual undertones, and most of it goes way over my head, but I see why he of all people would like it. I think it’s based on a book too, which would explain a lot. Either way, it has him very intrigued, so I force down any questions or complaints and just huddle up closer to him.

At some point, one of us looks at the clock, and we’re shocked when we realize how late it’s gotten. Bram shuts off the TV and we get up from our cozy position on the couch, much to my (and probably his) disappointment. Bram gives me a quick kiss and I go off to shower.

\---

We get through our usual nighttime routines and lie down to sleep. Just as I’m about to reach over to turn out the light, though, Bram turns to me with a confused and thoughtful expression. In the dim lamplight, I can see him looking me up and down-his eyes searching every part of me. I may be more comfortable in myself now, but I get self-conscious when I see him eyeing me like that.

“What’s wrong?” I ask him. We’ve been together so long that I don’t get worried about this stuff as easily, but this is new for him.

“Nothing! Nothing at all,” he assures me. I must have looked as concerned as I felt, because now he’s clearly worried about me.

But he isn’t looking at me out of concern. He starts giggling to himself now, and now I’m even MORE concerned. Should I expect teasing? Oh God, he’d better not be planning on tickling me. I’ve told him we’re adults now and we shouldn’t be doing stuff like that, even if I still enjoy it.

“I’m just thinking,” he says, breathily. “It’s so weird to me how much you’ve changed since we got together, but at the same time still seem so much like the same little Simon I used to tickle and tease every day.”

I chuckle at the irony. “Getting nostalgic on me now? I can always go back to that all-hoodie wardrobe that you loved so much, but I doubt I’d fit into most of it now,” I joke.

Bram seems to draw in his breath really sharply. Almost a gasp.

“No, that’s exactly it,” he says. “You’ve literally grown so much. It’s insane to think about how scrawny and precious you were back in your high school days.”

Now it’s my turn to gasp. Does he miss that? Does he miss high school me? Have I seriously changed so freaking much that he’s getting sad about not having what I used to be?

Yet again, Bram is so good at reading me that his mouth suddenly twists into a frown and his eyes bore into my own.

“Simon… What’s going on in there?” he asks me as he taps the side of my head with a gentle finger; more than a little concern riddling his voice.

“Do you miss that…? Do you miss who I used to be? Small and frail?” I ask him. I hope I don’t sound condescending, because I know I can get that way when I talk about myself.

“No! God, no,” he says, clearly surprised that I mentioned it at all. “I wouldn’t trade you for the world, and you know that. Why would you think that?” he asks me. Though before giving me time to respond, he pulls me closer to him and kisses my forehead.

I don’t have a good response anyway. I don’t know why I feel that way. I wrack my brain, trying to decipher my emotions but I can’t. I thought I was past this body image dysphoria now that I’m in better shape, but I guess you can’t escape everything.

Instead, a thought crosses my mind and I hastily get out of bed.

“Sy…?” Bram questions, as soon as I get up.

I silently walk over to the closet and pull out a shirt. One I know we both recognize and remember. Black and red stripes, and the portrait of a one-man band that’s all too familiar to me. I draw in a breath and don’t let it back out as I hold it out in front of me. 

It’s so _small_.

Without hesitation, I try to pull it over my head and my shoulders only just barely squeeze in. I remember how baggy it used to fit, and now it’s constricting. Looking into the mirror on the wall scares me even more as I see the seams practically bulging. A thousand thoughts like nightmares race through my head all at once.

_Why did I do that? What if I rip it? I can’t ruin something like this that means so much to both of us. What’s going to happen if I lose this? What will Bram think? Will he hate me?_

Bram doesn’t miss a beat and jumps out of bed to hold me.

It takes me a minute before I notice I’m completely hyperventilating.

“Shh it’s okay,” he tells me, with a hand on my cheek.

I’m not crying yet, but I’m close.

“I- I… Bram…” I stutter, barely able to think in full sentences, let alone speak them.

I’m no stranger to panic attacks, and we both know that. But it’s been so long since I’ve had one that makes my body seize up like this, and it caught me off-guard.

Bram looks at me with that same comforting stare I’ve come to know him for. He’s gotten so good at it.

“Don’t say a word, babe. I’m right here,” he says under his breath.

I slowly lift the Elliott Smith shirt over my head and look at it for a very long time once it’s off. Part of me is extremely happy I didn’t tear it in the process, but I’m also more upset than I think I ever thought I could be over a stupid shirt.

I hold the shirt up to Bram and just can’t even anymore.

Everything comes out. Everything.

“I’m sorry I’m not the same boy you met in high school. I’m sorry I’m not small or pretty anymore. I’m sorry I can’t help myself get over this enough to help you. I’m sorry I’m getting so emotional over a fucking shirt-.” I rant for ages, and Bram just listens. I know he won’t let me panic alone.

When I’m done venting, Bram lifts my chin up so I meet his gaze.

“Hey. It’s just a shirt. I know how much it means to you, and that makes me so grateful. But do you remember why I got you that shirt in the first place?” His voice is stern, but not aggressive. Forcefully comforting, is the only way I can describe it.

I don’t realize I’ve been crying until I instinctively wipe my eyes and sniff. I’m shaking too much to say anything, and he picks up on it.

“You remember the note I hid in that shirt?” he asks me. I can barely look at him. He fills the silence with a well-worn love note that I haven’t heard in years.

“P.S. I love the way you smile like you don’t realize you’re doing it. I love your perpetual bed head. I love the way you hold eye contact a moment longer than you need to. And I love your moon-gray eyes. So if you think I’m not attracted to you, Simon, you’re crazy,” he says all in practically one breath.

He recites the entire postscript as if he only just wrote it yesterday. I’m amazed, shocked, scared, embarrassed… I don’t know.

Bram has a dreamy glaze over his eyes, as if he’s lost in thought. But he never looks away.

“That was in that shirt, Sy. Just for you,” he coos. “If anything, that should be all you need to know that I didn’t get you that shirt for the hell of it. I got it because I love you.”

He grins, and I blush. I’m so embarrassed I just lost it over a band t-shirt. 

After a long silence, and me rubbing my eyes and embarrassedly giggling to myself, I return the gesture.

“I love you too.”

Bram rubs my back as we crawl back into bed. He pulls me into him before I feel myself starting to drift off.

“I’m seriously so glad you’ve changed, Simon,” he whispers. “Because now I have an excuse to never shut up about _your_ calves.”

A smile works its way onto my face and I fall blissfully to sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> (The postscript was taken directly from the book, Simon vs. the Homo Sapiens Agenda, and belongs to Becky Albertalli)
> 
> This was inspired by two things.  
> The main one being that a friend of mine went through a very similar situation recently, during which he panicked when he ripped one of his old shirts. He bulked up and just couldn’t fit into it. It was a really insightful case of dysphoria, honestly. “Fit” and “healthy” don’t exactly come to mind when you think of body dysphoria, but then you realize that EVERYONE can have it and does go through it no matter what their body type is. That’s something I wanted to address.
> 
> The second thing that inspired this was just that someone asked me what I thought would happen if BRAM was the one who liked SIMON’s calves. So there’s that.


End file.
